


Let Me Love You

by jennylovesjordan



Series: Let Me Love You [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: 1600s, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Baroque AU, F/M, Multi, Spoiler Alert - Freeform, a shit load of puns, adrien is still a dork, bc i like that name lmao, but chat isn't lol, in this fic marinette's coccinelle, just two badass dorks in masks, marinette's a freaking assassin y'all, prepare yourself lol, puns, shameless flirting chat, super slow burn btw, there'll be angst later just so you know, we have one serving of sexy chat noir coming up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-01 02:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8604430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennylovesjordan/pseuds/jennylovesjordan
Summary: Paris, 1635...Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a Marquise with a special- if not suicidal- mission. Things changed when she met Adrien Agreste de France, the legitimate Prince Charming TM. But is he though, when he kept sneaking out of the Château for a little fun? But Marinette hasn't had enough problems to deal with already? Why is this so-called Chat Noir flirting with her when she's Coccinelle? It's not like he knows her true identity...right?





	1. A Dangerous Marionette

**Author's Note:**

> Okay here we go folks...  
> Been having this idea for literally ever lol :3  
> So this'll be a Baroque AU, with the story taking place at precisely 1635 in Paris, France. The rest will be explained here in the story :3  
> I hope you guys'll enjoy it, and buckle up, there will be a ton of this stuff :))

It’s been two hours.

 

Two freaking hours on this _damné_  carriage, this stupid thing that kept shaking and tossing her to the sides, ruining her hair which took an hour of sitting immobile and three servants to do.

 

If her father hadn’t _specifically_ asked her to be extra fancy, she would’ve spent the time in their _château's_ vast garden, shooting down birds with her bow, maybe throwing a few daggers or practicing hand-to-hand combat with her mentor.

 

Sadly, she was practically tied down to the pink padded chair in her bedchamber, surrounded and completely out-numbered by a team of people that her father had hired just for this occasion. They turned her from an active, carefree girl, who usually only wears the bare essentials, into a dress-up doll, her face caked with powder, chest flattened into a corset that seemed like it’s trying to squeeze her insides out. Her hair, dirty and tangled all over the place, turned into silky and long, dark locks that looked mesmerising, and pulled up into a neat bun with a few strands loose on her shoulders. She looked beautiful; she owed that to him at least.

 

But it’s not like she’s going to blame him for dressing her up either. After all, it’s not everyday that you receive an invitation from the king, Gabriel II of France, to join his court as his advisor on all things, from politics to arts and his personal life. _It’s an honour_ , her father said in front of his followers at her celebration party, _to serve as the only advisor for a king, especially considering your title is only a Marquise, while most of the previous king's’ advisors were Duchess at the least, and some are even made Queen._ Well, it’s reassuring to know that she will definitely receive glares filled with hatred from envious nobles who'd gladly kill for her position.

 

But that’s not the only motivational quote/advice that Thomas Dupain-Cheng, Duke of Brittany, can offer. Her father has been a wise man, after all.

 

_Dear_ , he whispered quietly before she climbed on the carriage that would take her to Paris, the proud capital of France, _You must be careful. You know your mission and therefore must not waver under the king’s sickeningly sweet lies, and by all means, you must steer clear of that Prince’s efforts to pursuit you because trust me, dear, he will try to pursuit you. Our first two spies had failed the mission because of him and his charms. Only the Prince is a sure heir to the throne and is extremely talented in military and other aspects. You’ll need to eliminate him as well, otherwise the syndicate’s plan shall never success. Do you understand?_

 

He held her shoulders, his grip as strong as iron but not quite enough to hurt her, and stared deep into her eyes, determination shone in his own. She gave a small nod as to not tip off the others whom stood around them, and her father raised the back of her hand and kissed it for good luck. Then he enclosed her in a tight embrace and she could feel tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, but she hugged him back as hard as she could, trying her best to channel her emotions into actions, a thing she has mastered a couple of years back.

 

“Take care, Marinette,” her father said as the carriage pulled out of the _Dupain Château_ , taking her to the city of Paris, to the _Château de Fontainebleau_ , King Gabriel II’s _résidence_ , a place where she could die.

 

That sounded delightful, didn’t it?

 

“We are arriving in five minutes, _Votre Excellence_ ,” the servant girl next to her spoke up, and she startled out of her mixed thoughts. Marinette glanced out from the glassy window of her beautifully decorated coach, and the sight of the _Château_ took her breath away.

 

_It’s huge_ , was her first thought, because heck, that thing was massive. The mere entrance was enough to amaze her, and the gardens around it made a square big enough for a hundred coaches and some remaining space. The polished stone double staircase led inside the _Château_ , and God help her if it’s not beautiful. Strong and tall walls fanned into two wings around the staircase, with golden lights flickering through the high glass windows. Those are the heights of luxury right here. Looking at the famous Château in person, Marinette soon understood the necessariness of _Miraculeuse_ ’s plan. They needed to take Gabriel II down for the sake of the people of France.

 

“Your Excellency,” the burly guard grunted and opened the door for her. She walked up the stairs and inside the palace. Marinette sucked in a breath. Marvellous. Simply marvellous.

 

“The King will be waiting for you in his study. Please visit your quarters first before meeting his Majesty,” another servant said and gestured for her bodyguards to bring in her luggage, while a young, willowy boy took the horses and led them into the West Wing, where the stables should be.

 

Yet another girl led her to the part of the Palace that will now belong to her, the Advisor of the King of France. A position where it would be easy for her to have power and supporters in the Court of Gabriel II, and where her influence might be enough to open up a path for the syndicate to take down the monarchy.

 

Her mission was to kill a king. She would not fear the coming of the shadows of death. For the people of France. For _Miraculeuse_ and _Le Papillon_. For her mother. Gabriel had caused enough sorrow for a lifetime.

 

She can do it, and she will.

 

After Marinette cleaned up the powdery white stuff that covered her face, rinsed off the sweat in the fancy bathtub and put on the sweet smelling perfume, the servant girl helped her into an exquisite red gown, that was apparently made specially for her. Then it’s necklaces, bracelets, earrings and another layer of makeup, long dark blue hair piled up into a neat bun and covered fully by a white giant wig, strings of pearl around her collar and her family’s coat of arms pinned on her chest. One last dab of a rather odd kind of sparkling powder at the back of her neck and she was ready to go meet his majesty Gabriel the Second, the man who caused the Dupain-Cheng household to mourn for months and months. The man who executed her mother without batting an eye. The man who was currently sitting in front of her with his luxurious suit, his golden staff and spine chilling stare. People said that he’s a heartless king, with absolutely no mercy nor patient for excuses.

 

_And they weren’t mistaken_ , Marinette thought as she made her way inside the study, feasting her eyes on rows and rows of books that decorated the walls. The King regarded her with cold eyes, but when he noticed the gown she was wearing, his face cracked into a smile in a way that she was sure had torn several of his tissues. But no. Gabriel stepped down from his throne-like armchair and greeted her like they were old friends.

 

“Lady Dupain-Cheng,” he said in a truly genuine voice that made her struggle to hold back a disgusted snort and remain professional, “It is a pleasure to finally have you in my Court. Please, have a seat and we can discuss your responsibilities and privileges in this position,”

 

So she sat down on another padded chair, this one red velvet with embroideries of floral patterns and golden armrests, carved and swirled like waves. And the King talked on, rambling about how he had seen her talents as an advisor, since she was the head member her father’s counselor, and the state of Brittany had been the richest in France since she took power alongside Thomas. So of course, Gabriel stole Marinette from her people and set her by his side, an act that would ensure his horrific death. But he didn’t know that, now did he?

 

An hour later, he released her from the hearing and told her to go back to her room and prepare; there will be a ball in her honor, to welcome and introduce her to the elite class here in Paris. Personally, Marinette did not have time nor interest in these kind of parties where there will be haters and suck-ups because of her position, but she also knew when something is absolutely vital that she simply can’t skip it, even for the pleasure of running on the rooftops and shooting arrows at random targets. So she kept her words to herself and followed the same handmaiden back to her quarters to refresh the makeup she just put on less than two hours ago. But who was she to argue about these matters?

 

As the girl redid Marinette’s hair and straightened her pearls, she zoned out, lost in her own thoughts. To be completely honest with herself, she was intensely curious about this ‘Prince’. He was charming, or so she heard, and she can’t help but wonder what is it about him that made _Miraculeuse’s_ previous two spies - _Le Paonne_ and _Reine des Abeilles_ as they were known - fail their plans to keep an eye on the King and have to retreat to the syndicate’s safe houses - one in Orléans and the other in Venice, a rich and powerful Italian city. She was a bit wary of him, and she would have to be constantly on alert whenever he was around of course, but she also had what the others don’t; a thirst for vengeance. Seven years of training in everything from combat to emotional containment skills since her mother passed, and she will not fall in his trap.

 

“Oh, my Lady, you look simply stunning!” the girl squealed in excitement then shocked back and dropped to her knees like she had been struck by an invisible lightning bolt. The girl looked up with fearful eyes and Marinette soon realized that without permission, the handmaiden is forbidden to converse with her master or mistress, and the Marquise took her hands.

 

“What’s your name, dear?” she asked gently, and the girl stared at her in disbelief. But then gratefulness washed through her face, and she smiled a little.

 

“I’m Tikki, my Lady,” she whispered, her voice still shaking but gone was the fear of this noblewoman standing in front of her. Marinette laughed a bit and raised Tikki from the floor.

 

“You have done a great job, Tikki,” she praised and hugged the stunned girl. “I am new to this city, so if you can help me fit in and do my job properly, I would be very grateful.”

 

“My Lady, please don’t say that,” Tikki panicked and glanced over her shoulder nervously as if a guard could somehow overhear their conversation and drag her to prison. “Serving you is my honor,”

 

“Formality is not needed in here, my dear. My quarters, my rules. Just call me Marinette,”

 

“I-How can I call you that!? Calling out a Lady’s first name is punishable by death, nevermind an honorable Marquise such as you! My Lady, I truly cannot…”

 

“Tikki, look at me. I am just a human, just like you. There’s nothing different between us. Status are just things that humans made up to degrade other humans, and I am not a supporter of that. Plus, I’ll decrease your monthly pay if you keep calling me My Lady,”

 

“W-What? Please have mercy, my- _I mean_ \- Ma’am. I have old parents outside the palace to take care of! Please-”

 

“Then don’t address me with all those stupid titles; I have no taste for them. If you can do it properly, I will even raise your pay,”

 

“Oh, thank you my- _I MEAN_ \- M-Marinette,”

 

“Ahh, that’s much better, Tikki,” She smiled warmly, “Now, can you help me loosen this corset? I swear to God almighty, this thing is trying to kill me,”

 

Tikki knew that this Marquise is different from all of her previous Mistresses, and she also knew that she was as lucky as a handmaiden can be in this cruel, unforgiving Château to have the opportunity to serve Marinette, and she can’t be happier. With a giggle, the young girl walked over to her squealing Mistress and helped her.

 

As Tikki brushed the folds of Marinette’s dress, the clock hit twenty bells. Both of them startled at the sounds that seemed to shock the entire palace, and the calm, relaxed look slid off of Marinette’s face. She stared grimly at the door as if it’s her own grave she will be stepping in, but her maid put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and she took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart. Those acting lessons she took for the past three years worked their magic as her face turned cheery and excited, the completely opposite of what her true emotions were. _But it doesn’t matter anymore,_ she scolded herself as the doors opened and a short walk through the hallways took her to the Grand Ballroom.

 

It’s show time.


	2. Dance With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp it's been long I'm sorry for not updating sooner T_T But I hope you enjoyed it though the dance took me forever to research lololol XD Forgive me for any grammar mistakes though, it's almost 4 AM here and I can't even XD

The doors opened and once again, Marinette gasped as the golden lights that trickled through the cracks and blinded her. She squinted her eyes and strutted, Tikki right behind her, into the Grand Ballroom that was packed with people.

  
Instantly, the guard who was standing near the door announced, his voice boomed clearly across the room, rising over buzzing conversations. “Lady Dupain-Cheng, Marquise of Brittany, has arrived!” And of course, that meant that the closes people immediately surrounded her and greeted, compliments and promises of assistance in everything flew all over the place. She was not one to be easily flattered, so she plastered a fake smile on her face and just go with it. Nod and smile even though they’re speaking nonsense, her father had taught her. And heck, she’s doing it as best as she could, but even Marinette herself cringed at the terribly forced laughter that made its way out of her throat.

  
But the nobles seemed to be eating it all up. They talked and told a few really bad jokes, and then proceed to laugh at said jokes. She was ready to bet that even the guards in the corners or the musicians upstage can see her obvious discomfort. But if they saw anything, they’re smart enough not to make any comments about it.

  
Despite the fact that all the Dukes and Duchesses are admiring her, she could hear them whispering mutinously behind her back. Snorts and hateful remarks based on jealousy. Murmurs of dislike and glares so cold they are spine-chilling. Yes, she was trained to assassinate a _freaking_ King, trained to kill anyone that stood in her way, but the mere social pressure and all the accusations of disgusting things she must have done to the King’s lower half- who was as old as her own _father_ , for _God’s sake_ \- to climb up to this position- was starting to take its toll on her. She wanted _nothing_ more than to whip out her trusty bow and stuck an arrow into their heads for daring to say such outrageous things about her, but she knew that would more likely to drag her to the nearest guillotine than to give her the respect she was looking for.

  
So she needed to get out of here, and fast, before she loses her temper.

  
“Excuse me, _Monseigneur_ \- yes, my apologies-” Marinette said clumsily as she pried herself from the grip of an overly-affectionate Duke of Orléans, and quickly retreat to the far corner near a fireplace to try to relax. Her plan was to meet the King again, maybe dance with him an obligatory dance for a few excruciatingly painful moments, then excuse herself and hide in her bedroom, perhaps entertaining her mind with fantasies of killing all the stupidly vain people who didn’t even think for a moment that she was smart enough to know when someone’s talking behind her back.

  
Little did she know, a certain man was looking for her, and it’s not who she was expecting.

 

* * *

 

Well, _to be fair_ , it wasn’t like his eyes were set out for a certain lady or something…

  
Normally, he would wander around in a party like this, talk to anyone and everyone, trying to pry any secrets they might have with a kiss of the hand, a few overly sweet compliments and fake smiles and enthusiasm, and they would inevitably burst open like those overcooked clams he hated so much. Unfortunately, today was no exceptions. But it was the duty that his father gave him, the reason why he was trained in everything since birth. He wasn’t _Prince Charming_ , in no way a loving son, and definitely not as nice as he appeared either.

  
He was a tool at best, a deadly weapon at worst. At his father’s disposal and command.

  
He was Adrien Agreste of France, the King’s most prized possession.

 

* * *

 

She hadn’t seen him coming. She never would’ve guessed it, but he stood there, in front of her in all his blinding glory, ignoring the people’s whispers around them. She stared into his bright, mischievous green eyes as he smiled warmly and opened his mouth.

 

* * *

 

“Good evening, _Mademoiselle_ ,” Adrien smiled, bent down to kiss the hand of the woman who looked at him incredulously. She quickly smiled and flirted back in an instance as her cheeks turned pink. It matched her eyes, at least.

  
“May I have a dance?”

 

* * *

 

“Why of course, _Monsieur_ ,” Marinette giggled and took the man’s outstretched hand. They glided out to the dance floor and he stared at her, seemingly lost for words. Was there something on her face?

  
“ _Monsieur_?” she tried again and he visibly shivered like something just crawled up on his back. “My apologies, _Mademoiselle_ ,” he said, “I was just thinking about how beautiful you are tonight,” Okay, _what_ now?

 

* * *

 

...Was it a bit overkill? Adrien hoped it wasn’t. Usually compliments like these worked very well on women like her, but she seemed different somehow. More innocent and bashful, not outright flirtatious and annoying like those two-faced girls he had had the ‘pleasure’ to meet. But then her eyes narrowed and his theory of her being different was confirmed.

  
“Excuse me?” she asked sweetly and with a pretty smile on her face, but he was so familiar with hostility he recognised it immediately. Well, isn’t this girl something. Might as well go with the flow, eh?

 

* * *

 

“Surely you must have known how utterly gorgeous you are, _Mademoiselle_. Otherwise you wouldn’t have tempted me like that,” Tempted? What the heck was this guy talking about? Marinette was pretty fucking sure that she wasn’t planning to seducing anyone; her to-do list has no space for romance.

  
“Again, excuse my rudeness, but I have no idea what are you talking about, _Monsieur_ ,” This is getting increasingly uncomfortable for her and dangerous for him. His chances of being in fatal danger was doubling every minute he pressed himself into her personal space, his minty breath fanning on her burning cheeks. This _goddamn_ man.

 

* * *

 

Haha. Who would’ve known teasing could be this enjoyable?

  
But after all, Adrien was a properly educated Prince of France, and it’s not considered chivalrous to pressure a lady now, is it? He knew where the line was drawn and he was edging alarmingly close to it. He needed to back out, and fast, before she decked him in the nose or something. Strangely enough, he had met one or two women in his life that would be reckless enough to do that, and now he had to add her to the list after knowing her for about two minutes.

  
“God Almighty,” he mumbled apologetically, playing the innocent child role, “I am so sorry for my actions and words, _Mademoiselle_. I do not know what took over me, and now I am ashamed,” he looked up to her with sad, glistening eyes, and she melted down in half a second. But he still had to play the role.

  
“I will be taking my leave now,” Adrien turned away with his head still down, “I am greatly sorry for my behaviour. Please, enjoy the rest of your night.”

 

* * *

 

Oh _God_ , what could Marinette do when he was looking at her like _that_ , with those melancholy eyes? And the way his eyebrows scrunched up, the way he ran a hand into his perfectly oiled blonde hair to mess it up again…

  
_Jesus_ , what was _wrong_ with her?

  
“Don’t go!” she spluttered before she could think about it. Her brain had failed her again, dammit. He looked at her over his shoulder, surprised, and by God’s name his gaze was mesmerizing.

  
“I-I mean, you still technically owe me a dance, right? S-Since you a-asked and everything and I said yes and everyone is going out to the floordance- I-I mean dancefloor now so it would be very embarrassing to leave and everything…” Why was she stammering!? This boy isn’t even half that good-looking! _Even though, if she really had to compare him with her previous lovers…_

  
Goddammit, brain! Stop getting ahead of yourself! _Wait wha-_

  
“Oh, of course! Where are my manners?” he said smoothly, slipped back into his seductive alter ego and brushed his hand against her cheek. She could feel blood rushing to her face and he chuckled at her alarmed look. “Relax, little Lady. I’m not going to do anything inappropriate,” That smolder he was giving her desperately begs to differ.

  
…

  
Oh _great_ , now those images are stuck in her head forever.

  
The music saved her an awkward situation. All around them, couples drifted towards the center, and their conversations along with the sound of the drums drowned his next joke. He didn’t seem to be happy about it; in fact, she was positive that he growled; but he smiled anyway and placed his hand gently on her waist.

  
They swayed with the beat as her eyes were locked on his, mesmerized. T-This man is so immature, yet he was charming in his own ways. What is this? She had been in love only once before, and it wasn’t pleasant. The asshole ran away as soon as she gave him money to save his imaginary old mother’s life from a seemingly incurable disease. He vanished from the surface of the Earth. Lucky for him. She would’ve shot him down with an arrow if he stayed for another minute obsessing over the gold.

  
“ _Mademoiselle_? Is there something bothering you?” the man in front of her spoke up, temporarily erased all of the bad memories about the jerk. She politely disagreed and smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she was so experienced at it that she thought he would’ve never tell the difference.

 

* * *

 

He did. Adrien noticed when a smile is forced, even if she only has the smallest hints of discomfort. It’s still there, nevertheless. She couldn’t fool him, because he practically invented this half-tweaked mouth, eyes closed, extremely cute and innocent smile that she’s showing him. The Prince had taught himself how to look like you’re enjoying yourself since he was eight, a year after his mother died. Nevertheless, he was still impressed with her skills, though. She must have an instructor, or a natural talent at putting masks on her face.

  
_But that was besides the point._

  
The point is, he had a gorgeous lady in his hands, and she wasn’t enjoying herself. Say what you want to say, but this hurt Adrien’s ego a lot. He wasn’t going to let her feel bad when she’s with him!

  
_Might as well try the flirting thing again in a different setting, right?_

  
And what’s better than an intimate dance? This girl would go along with it, for sure. People trample on each other to get to dance with him, so there’s no way she’s going to miss this perfect opportunity, right?

  
_But she seemed different. He still need to keep an eye on her._

  
For now though? He needed to have fun with this lovely woman.

  
So he clapped his hands twice at the musicians, and ordered, loud and clear.

 

* * *

 

“Play a _la volte_!” A gasp of surprise came from the crowd and they automatically parted, leaving a circle of admiration around Marinette and the man. Some murmured, some scandalized. Others laughed and whispered excitedly to each other, clearly curious about this intriguing dance.

  
Marinette? She was confused as hell, but she might as well show off a bit that she’s not one to back down from a challenge. So she straightened herself and stood on the other side, face to face with him, grinning.

  
The drum was on once again and they started with a Galliard, turning and circling one another, moving closer and closer until they were well into the other’s personal space. The younger girls could barely retain their excitement, giggling and covering their mouths. Then the music began and he dove for her like a hawk. She laughed joyously, truly enjoying this dance rather than aimlessly moving around, and she raised her arms and looped them around his neck.

  
“So, _Mademoiselle_ , pray tell. How did God create an exceptionally lovely woman such as yourself?” the man asked her as he lifted her up by the corset, holding her in the air for a few seconds. She rolled her eyes at his comment, but acted flattered nonetheless.

  
“Oh, _Monseigneur_ , I am delighted by your praise,” she responded politely as they passed each other for another lift but said nothing else.

  
“Please do not be so shy, _my Lady_ ,” he whispered softly into her ear as he raised her again, with hands resting peacefully on her waist. He chuckled at her huff of indignation.

  
“I am not _your Lady_ ,” she mumbled, her words barely audible. He could see the bashfulness in her eyes, and in the way her cheeks flamed with such a casual title that he bestowed upon her.

 

* * *

 

“Not yet,” he purred into her ear and decided to risk his life and kissed the side of her laced neck. The music died out, and the roar of laughter and applause overwhelmed everything, effectively cutting off any colorful curses she was about to throw into his face. It’s been merely ten minutes since he had met this woman, but he knew that she wasn’t the type of girl who is restricted to rules and morals; she was actually the complete opposite of what he thought his woman would be. But strangely enough, he was attracted to this maiden the moment he laid eyes on her.

  
There’s no denying it now. Goddammit.

 

* * *

 

“What was that!?” she scowled, smacking his arm, her eyes narrowed but her smile made it pretty clear that that wasn’t a bad dance by any chance.

  
“That’s called a kiss on the neck, sweetheart. Just in case you don’t know,” Adrien grinned his shit-eating grin, clearly pleased when her face lit up again in embarrassment. “Ouch!” Another smack. “Would you stop that?!” Damn, this girl has no boundaries, does she?

  
Just when they started to talk casually and the Prince finally got her to warm up with him enough to stop hitting his biceps in anger, his godforsaken father showed up. _Just great_. He has to destroy everything, does he?

  
“Adrien, this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Marquise of Brittany. She is our lovely guest of honour for tonight’s ball. Lady Dupain-Cheng, this is my only son, Adrien. Greet her properly and make sure she has a splendid time at the ball,” His father, King Gabriel II of France, finally introduced her, the woman whom he had been dancing with for the past half an hour.

  
Immediately, her face went pale. The colors drained from her cheeks, and the look on her face was so dumbstruck that he found it kind of funny. But what was wrong with her, anyway?

  
He never would’ve figured out, because the Earl of Burgundy swooped right in, asking for a dance, and she agreed so quickly it’s a miracle that no one found that suspicious. Except for him, of course. But when he was done listening to his father’s reminder of the extra economics lessons he got tomorrow morning, she was way out of his sight, dissolved in an ocean of over-colourfully-dressed people.

 

* * *

 

What. The. _Heck_. _Was_. _That?_

  
That boy is a Prince? Oh no, with her luck, he’s not a Prince. He’s _the_ Prince. Adrien _freaking_ Agreste, the one and only anti-female-assassin charm of the French Royal family against _Miraculouse_. And she didn’t even _recognize_ him!?

  
But that- _he_ \- _he_ had been exceptionally nice. Although he was flirty and made completey  _insufferable_ jokes in the start, the way he held her when they danced together, that la volte was breathtaking. Then the look on his face when the King introduced them… He looked shocked, but pleasantly shocked, like he had thought that she was the new Marquise before but he didn’t had any evidence. One more smile cracked on his face, this one genuine, and she was coughing, excusing herself and ran out of the ballroom as fast as possible for a breather, leaving a very confused and possibly offended Earl of Burgundy. _Dear God_ , the Prince was attractive.

  
She found a glass door, hidden by the thick velvet curtains. A breeze of fresh air fanned her face when she opened it and Marinette sighed in relief. She quickly slipped out when no one noticed and hunched over the railing there, rethinking all of her decisions in life. Could she really do this? Gabriel was nice to her, his son was _fucking_ Prince Charming in the flesh, everyone here respected her even if they disagree with her. And then there’s her new maid, Tikki. The girl was a delight, so positive about everything! Could she really assassinate Gabriel, kill Adrien and possibly destroy all of these people’s life?

  
_Remember what they’ve done to you, Coccinelle,_ a voice in her head reminded her. _They’ve killed your mother just because she was a Calvinist. That is a blood debt that must be paid._

  
But enough is enough. She needed to run, to feel free again. This place is too cramped, too much like a prison for her. She _needed_ to get away from this hideous party for a while.

  
She took a deep breath and was about to leap through the railing, down to the soft green grass beneath her when a voice spoke up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that. Goodnight everyone~ *yawn*


	3. Runaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy would you look at that? An update! :)) This one is relatively short, but the next one would be long and hopefully would be done soon XD It's a hard one, that chapter 4 T_T Anyway, enjoy! <3

“Lady Dupain-Cheng!” Oh shit. Not him again. She turned around and her face almost touched his, their noses barely apart. Marinette was so startled she almost fell face first from the second-floor balcony.

 

“Your Highness!” she squealed and curtseyed clumsily, immediately went into _innocent-cute-girl_ mode. Goddammit.

 

“What does a lady like you do out here? Aren’t you cold?” he took his outer coat off and draped it over her shoulders. She shivered when his hands accidentally brushed the bare skin on her neck somehow.

 

He had the decency to realize this, at least. “S-Sorry, Lady Dupain-Cheng!” he mumbled apologetically like a little kid and that made her laugh despite herself. Dammit.

 

“Marinette,” she said softly, totally against her better judgement. He looked up, a bit confused, but also smiling. “Call me Marinette,”

 

“Pardon me?” Oh, this boy is too cute for her sake.

 

“M-Marinette. You can call me Marinette.” _Aaand_ now he knows her name. Great. Why the _fuck_ wouldn’t she blurt out her assassin identity- _Coccinelle_ \- too!?

 

 _That sounds like a good idea…_ Shut up, brain! You’re not helping!

 

“Marinette,” The Prince mused, letting her name roll on his tongue for a few moments. She giggled like a freaking shy maiden, which she is _not_ , and slapped herself mentally. _What the actual fuck, Dupain-Cheng? Get ahold of yourself!_

 

“So,” he started awkwardly, all of his persuasiveness or seductiveness when they danced were gone, “Why are you out here? As far as I was informed, the party inside is actually for you. We can’t have the _étoile_ away from where the fun is, now, can we?” Why did he have to be so freaking adorable?

 

“Well, it was really stuffing in there,” Miraculously, she said without stuttering. “I just want to get some fresh air.”

 

“I understand,” he nodded empathically. He had had his fair share of parties filled to the brim with drunken middle aged people, most of them even bold enough to try to hit on him. Escaping to the balcony was still pretty tame comparing to the things he had done to get out of those parties as fast as possible. “But, well, you are my father’s Advisor now. You’d have to get used to parties like this eventually,”

 

“Ugh, no,” she groaned, hands absentmindedly wiping her face. “If I have to attend every single party with these shoes I am going to die. Not to mention this godforsaken dress!”

 

He laughed good heartedly, his emerald green eyes glinted in the moonlight. Her heart just skipped a beat, she thought. God, look at that damn Adonis face, that tousled spun gold hair, that clear laughter that rang through the air like a Greek chorus…

 

Oh Jesus. She was so fucked.

 

“Well then, Marinette,” he chuckled at her name. What’s so funny about it? “Why don’t we run away for a while? Just over to that garden, hmm? Come on, I’ll show you my favourite spot.”

 

That really should’ve triggered a red alarm in her mind. The things he could’ve done to her when she was alone with him in a vacant garden! But nope. It’s been merely a few hours since she met him and he’s already got her attention.

 

“S-Sure,” she gave in easily, hand already reaching for his, “But only half an hour. I still need to get back, Your Highness,”

 

“Don’t call me that,” he made a face and turned away, inspecting the balcony railing for some reason, “You know my name, don’t you?”

 

Of _fucking_ course. Who doesn’t?

 

“Adrien,” she said carefully when he dangled his legs outside. The drop was about 4 meters and heck, this Prince needed to be careful or he’s going to break his neck, “What are you doing?”

 

“Having fun, what else?” With those words he leaped off the balcony, effectively giving the Marquise a heart attack. She let out a soundless scream, too shocked to say anything.

 

Right when Marinette was about to call the guards to try and retrieve their future ruler’s bloody remains, his voice called from below.

 

“Come on, Princess,” he whistled, “You can’t seriously think that a drop like that would be enough to kill me? Please, you wound me,” She looked down and there he was, clutching his chest with his eyes closed shut and fake hurt on his face.

 

So overdramatic. And also…

 

“ _Princess?_ ” she squeaked indignantly. _What the hell?_

 

“Of course. Any lady such as yourself deserves nothing less,” Still, that is not a valid excuse.

 

Despite all the angry act she’s pulling, Marinette could feel her cheeks started to get hot, tinted pink. _Goddammit_ , no.

 

“Oh, please, Princess,” She could hear his smirk from up here, “Come down. I promise I’ll catch you in my arms! I’ll be gentle, don’t worry,”

 

Huh. _As if_ she needed _his_ help.

 

“No need to go such length to please me, my prince,” she smiled as his face turned red, “I can handle this on my own. Although a little help would be nice,”

 

“Of course, _mon chéri_ , anything for you,” he braced himself, ready to catch her full weight and maybe spin her around like they always do in those fairy tales. But instead of a beautiful woman in red, all he got was…

 

“Shoes…?” his confusion was pretty vocal, and again, he could hear her lovely laughter echoed all around this vacant place. “What are-”

 

But before he could say anything else, a flash of red and swishy fabric blinded him, and there she was, landed in a perfect position, her breathing even and unphased. _God damn_.

 

“Thanks for catching my shoes,” she smirked and took back the pair of heels dangled in his hands. His jaw had hit the floor at some point, but he didn’t even know it until she tapped his chin and closed it gently, a hint of amusement in her eyes. Hell, isn’t this woman something else.

 

Meanwhile, Marinette gained a head start on him just to hide her flustered face and reflect on her actions. Great, she fucked up big time. He knew what she was capable of now! Her role was supposed to be a shy and quiet girl, mixed with weak and a little of insecurity. And her Coccinelle was showing just then, when it wasn’t supposed to surface until the assassination takes place! What the fuck, Marinette?

 

“H-Hey!” the Prince finally broke out of the shock and ran after her, “Where did you learn how to do that?”

 

Of course, she decided to ignore him. What else could she do without risking revealing herself even more?

 

She never should’ve agreed to go with him, shouldn’t she?

 

_Well, fuck._

 

* * *

 

 

To be fair, catching a conversation with a charming man whose job was to _talk to people_ was pretty easy and sometimes irresistible.

 

It’s not like she enjoyed his company or anything…

 

Ugh, who was she trying to lie to? It was, arguably, one of the best time of her life.

 

And all they did was walking under the gentle, illuminating moonlight, watching the colorful flowers in black and white, occasionally stole a glance at each other, and talk a little bit. Nothing too heavy, nothing too stupid. Just like that, they became closer. And God helps her, she had been dying for a friend lately. Her only real friend, Alya, or _Volpina_ , had been missing in action for the past two months after happily married to _Coquille de Jade_ , or Nino Lahiffe, a famous musician with extreme axe skills. Coccinelle might feel lonely, but she was proud of her friends too.

 

“Uh, so…” Marinette startled when the man next to her tried to start a conversation. “I, um, I haven’t known much about you, except for the facts that you’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a Marquise, you’re my father’s Advisor, you hate parties and uncomfortable shoes, and you can kick my ass anytime you feel like it. Did I left anything out?” he grinned. Had he really paid that much attention to her?

 

“So… How old are you?” he asked sheepishly. She blinked at him in surprise at his attempt and suddenly threw her head back, laughing good-heartedly, leaving a flustered and embarrassed Adrien next to her, wondering what the heck is going on.

 

“D-Did I say something wrong?” he rubbed the back of his neck, abashed, his face burning and his gaze averted when they met her eyes.

 

“No no!” she waved her hands frantically, trying to keep a straight face but failing, too. “It’s nothing wrong, it’s just… I didn’t expect your first question to be that.”

 

“Q-Question? I was just trying to make conversation…” he mumbled to himself and God, he was adorable. “Well, to be frank, I haven’t met anyone like you before. I haven’t made any friends. It’s all sort of… new, to me.” she halted to a stop when she heard those words. The way he was looking at her… it couldn’t be fake, could it?

 

“Then, what about _Mademoiselle_ Bourgeois?” she asked self-consciously, since she was pretty sure their friendship wasn’t just a fudge.

 

“Well, no one, except for Chloe, but she lives in the same castle as I do; it’s hard not to be friends.” Oh, Marinette had heard all about Chloe Bourgeois, alright. The cocky, arrogant Princess of France, who cares about no one rather than herself and Adrien Agreste, who was rumoured to be her fiance. The thought alone made Marinette want to gag.

 

“But hey,” She came back to her senses and looked at him, her heart positively skipped a beat. “Even if it’s new, I’d like to try it with you, Marinette,” The way he said her name. God.

 

“Your Highness,” a guard mumbled hesitantly. Adrien looked at him, the warm, welcoming smile on his face immediately vaporized, leaving a stern and stoic man behind. The guard swallowed, “May I suggest you take Lady Dupain-Cheng back? It is past midnight already, Sir,” he suggested, trying his best to keep eye contact with the Prince of France. Adrien took out his pocket watch and heck, that thing is extravagant. Gold with extremely elaborate decorations; the cover alone would be enough to feed an entire village for a week! It’s been a long time since she had seen something this expensive; her family likes to sponsor Miraculouse’s projects or donate them to poor people all around Brittany.

 

“Huh, you’re right,” he hummed, stopping her train of thoughts. “My apologies, Lady Dupain-Cheng,” he turned to her and winked. Ohhh.

 

“It’s not a problem, Your Highness,” she curtseyed for no reason at all, and he had to hold back a smile. It felt good, like they’re sharing a secret of some sort, even though it’s only to remain professional in front of everyone else. Professionalism is a requirement for her job; she could not date anyone in the Court, ever. And the Prince himself is way out of her league.

 

But it’s not like she wanted to date him, right?

 

Right…

 

“May I take you back inside the _Château_ , my Lady?” he offered her his hand, and she took it, walking next to him. Marinette had, thankfully, remembered to grab her shoes hastily when the guard ushered them towards the palace, so at least she could still keep her composure. Some of it.

 

And seeing as Agreste is barely holding back his howling laughter, she failed.  

  


They talked for a little while about nothing in particular, like whether the Baroness of Champagne had the worst hairstyle today or it’s actually Lady Sabrina of Picardy. Personally, Marinette thought that Lady Sabrina’s short and modern haircut was the best one and it fits her ballgown, but apparently, Adrien disagreed. They bickered all the way to her chamber, and only stopped when Tikki opened the door and greeted her mistress. The girl kept her head down respectfully, but subtly gave Marinette a raised eyebrow.

 

“So,” the Prince said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “Um, I guess we’re here,”

 

Tikki looked at her like, this is the Prince Charming people were talking about? She gave her maiden an eye roll, like, I know, right?

 

“I-I had a great time,” he beamed, his sudden smile should be enough to light all the candles in the castle for the next two years or so. Unfortunately, the Marquise found it cute.

 

“Me too,” she admitted despite herself. Part of her mission could only be accomplished by getting acquainted with the Prince, right? Making powerful and influential friends never hurt. “Thank you for giving me a tour of the garden, Your Highness,”

 

“I did?” Adrien looked confused, but immediately got back his confidence and his cold façade when she glanced at the guards around them, eavesdropping for the King but pretending not to notice anything. “Yes, yes, of course, Lady Dupain-Cheng. It was my pleasure,”

 

“Then, I wish you a good night, My Prince,” she curtseyed yet again, her gaze locked down to the floor in fear of looking at his warm green eyes and getting distracted by said eyes. She couldn’t manage to lose her focus and fall in whimsy love; she was here to infiltrate the Court of Gabriel and to kill them both, the King and his Heir. And her plan would fail inevitably if she loves the man in front of her here.

 

“I wish you a good night too, my Lady. The sweetest of dreams for you,” he raised her hand up to his lips and stared deep into her eyes. She couldn’t escape his look of adoration, even if the possibility that it’s fake is exceptionally high. But all of her doubts and suspicions took a flying leap off the nearest window when he kissed her hand.

 

It was a simple kiss; light and innocent, his lips barely ghosting on her skin. But for someone who had been starved of physical affections for so long like her, it was enough to set her blood on fire.

 

It didn’t help that he was so fucking handsome, either.

 

“Then, I’ll be on my way, Marinette,” he retreated way too early for her liking, but she shook herself awake and bid him goodbye. She’s thinking too much about him, she reading into it too much. He’s only trying to be polite, that’s all. It’s not like he already considered her a friend or something else that she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about…

 

Wait, did he just call her Marinette?

 

_Agh, no!_

 

* * *

 

 

“Marinette, would you like some hot chocolate before bed?” Tikki’s clear voice echoed from outside her bedchamber. The girl had been better in less than half a day; she was smiling, now, and occasionally humming to herself while preparing for her new mistress to go to bed.

 

“Yes, please, Tikki,” she agreed, taking the burning cup of cocoa into her hands and got lost in her thoughts again. What’s with the Prince’s sudden interest in her, the King turned out to be not as bad as she had anticipated, everyone’s kiss-up attitude… It was a lot to take in for her day one. And her family back in Brittany, too. She missed them, even though she had been in long distance missions before. But what got her though those assignments were the belief that she would be back, that she would get to hold her father again, would get to banter with her maids at home, her friends in _Miraculouse_. But now, when all of her loved ones had said their farewells to her before she left… It was a bit hard to get through.

 

“Marinette,” Tikki said again, making the Marquise glanced at her, “Is there something bothering you? If there is, you can talk to me- I mean, if you want to, of course,” she added hastily, as if she had just remembered that the dark haired woman in front of her was, in fact, her mistress.

 

“It’s fine,” Marinette smiled and gave Tikki her empty cup, “I’m fine, really. But we can talk if you don’t mind…”

 

“Oh, of course not!” the girl squealed and sat next to her on the bed, “I’d love to hear about it. Though I suspected your trouble had something to do with the Prince?” Goddammit. Was she that obvious?

 

Tikki giggled and she groaned, hiding her face in a pillow. Why, why is this so awkward? She wanted to tell her new friend everything, if only for the sake of getting rid of this burden, but at the same time, she kept opening her mouth but nothing came out. It’s like words had abandoned her, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

 

“Ah, just forget it,” she buried herself under the giant comforters, and Tikki took her cue, retreated while trying to muffle her laughter. Marinette appreciated the effort, but it didn’t help her one bit.

 

“Goodnight, milady,” the maid slipped but she paid it no mind, still too lost with her thoughts. Why did that simple sentence reminded her of him again? And the way he sounds, the way he looked at her, his deep green eyes, his smile, the way his lips felt on her skin…

 

Marinette slapped the pillow on her face and groaned in frustration. _This is not working!_ None of the things that she could do while being trapped in her room would take her mind away from him, either…

 

_Which only meant that she needed a breather, right?_

 

The sly Marquise rose on her bed slowly when the room outside had gone quiet and she was sure that Tikki had gone to bed. The pack of clothes at the bottom of her chest is, thankfully, still there. She threw on her gear as fast as she could, fastening straps and flung a cloak across her back, picking up a knife and hid it under her robes, her trusty bow swung over her shoulder. Grabbing a thin but strong hook with her, she put on the familiar red dotted mask and opened the window as silently as she could. The breeze caressed her face and _mon dieu_ , it was nostalgic. It had been less than three days ago but she missed being free already!

 

Now, let’s see if her skills are still intact after that intense scrubbing in the bathtub…

 

Marinette swung the hook to the nearest rooftop and pulled. It was, miraculously, strong enough to hold her weight, so she started climbing. Just a few more seconds and she’ll be on her way…

 

If they’re observant enough, keen eyes could see a woman that night, standing tall and unfazed on a rooftop, her cloak whipping in the air, windswept dark blue hair, the edges of her feature illuminated gently by the moonlight. It was a sight to behold. But too soon, she leaped off her hiding spot and into the darkness, disappearing without a trace.

 

Just like a dream.

 


End file.
